knight of pomegranates

My faith is my grounding wire; my faith is my roots and the certainty bone deep that I will rise again, fire from ashes. And I have come and come again, even cracked, and even broken, to begin again and get up. And if there is any truth in my bones it is simply this: I will not lay down. I will not surrender. And I will not give in to those chained by their own pain and delusions.

I believe in hope. I believe in love. I believe in absolute truth and the sun rising after the dark night.

Past demons, past magic, past wounds and everything else, this is my faith and my creed, and damn any who will deny me it.

- Your own personal army.
- /b/ incarnate.
- A bad fantasy novel written for your amusement.
- The worship of Lovecraftian entities.
- The last and only hope for humanity.
- Edgy Wicca.

There are some things you just can't have. For everything else, there's Mastercard.

Chaoism does not mean control over reality; it means altering the interior perception in an attempt to enforce this vision on the real world. Effectively, this is why psychology an important role in ritual work and the practice itself. Without knowing how to change a mind, ones own, or others, you have very little chance of breaking past the conviction that magic does not exist, ritual is little more than dressing up, and that you are having a not altogether pleasant conversation with the voices in your head.

The importance lies in realizing that it really, truly, does not matter. 99% of magic is not external. 1% of magic is the sort of thing every little rebellious teenager and greasy forty-year old magician lusts, dreams after, and eventually lies about having pulled off. Actual success is rare. Flashy success is one in a million, and far less likely than being struck by lightning, even considering the smaller sample size of paganism and the metaphysical community in general.

Magic is not about success externally. Magic is a psychological tool insomuch as it is anything. Guided meditation, tarot, gnostic experience, the relationship with the divine, is an internal journey, a self-oriented development even within the strictures of a coven or a chaos monastery. Magic is the art of changing oneself and ones perception of reality. The Hero's Journey may not be explicitly laden with swords and fireballs, but that does not lessen the actual impact on a properly prepared mind.

To conclude, magic is a delusion. You can choose to use the delusion to further your own means, or you can buy in completely to the idea that real life revolves around elves, dwarves, and whose pentacle is bigger, as opposed to making money, finding compatible mates, and living a long, healthy, productive life.

Knight on errantry, off into the wild blue yonder. Screaming down a pomegranate-scented wind with too many knives, too much alcohol, too much pretension. Ghost towns, railroad spikes, graveyard dirt, century coins and a scrap of fabric. Blue ribbons at the wrist. What's the quest, the vision to be found? Where are we going from here? What shall this be?

Broken hearts, broken promises, from the edge of nothing, yea, I cry: Goddess, a new way beckons, mockery or irony, rebirth or none. Or am I in the ashes? Here we go, here's nothing.

Laptop, absinthe, change of clothes. Where do we go from here?

Does it make you feel better? It doesn't change anything, and it doesn't earn you forgiveness, you chickenshit. Your credit is gone. Thank this breeding and manners for maintaining appearances. Don't expect shit from me, and don't push me. I owe you nothing now.

yesyesyes a thousand times YES

"Roses going out in all directions clutched by strangers. Every one is a a dense mesh of petals unfolding, unfurling, the infinite rose out into the London night. Improbable multiplication. Petal confetti of Her bridal nights spilling over the brim of the cup."

This. Listen, Paige. You know this, as surely as curses in the night, storms in the sky, alcohol burning bright through your veins, the sharp edge at the beginning of the fall, the change that takes you like lightning. Your allegiance is chaos, and the fire: this will set you free.

You want an ephigraph, you idiot children? You want definition, explanation of everything I am, I worship, desire, loathe, love, fear, reach for and run from? This. Rise again, burn to ashes, spiral down - fuck, grab ahold of it all, the heights of a dizzying spin, fires alight, just a bit higher every time, and the fall never so fierce as the first time.

(oh, the first time I fell hopelessly in love, and the aching pain and fear and raw skin and rage and beauty of it all, the first time I wept in despair from the wide-open glory and agony of it all.)

This! We are not made, immortalized in caution, fear, and care. Risk everything, change everything if you have to - even if you don't, for the sheer hell of it, for the ghost of a chance. Seek the fire that won't go out, seek the Self that you could be. Kindle your potential, keep your hands fast around the spark as you feed it in hunger, in self-destruction, in fascination at dancing light and heat - kindle it, till your fingers are burnt, your palms black.

Rekindle the flame, let it burn again!

Second verse, same as the first. Being happy really brings out the worst in you, doesn't it, bitch?

Fight Club is not a how-to manual.

Surrendering to self pity won't do you any good. Stop worrying about the past, present, future, or the opinions around you - or whether, having taken the first step, you will fail.

Get up. Get up and walk. You're made of better things than this. If you stay still, you will die.

The only problem with seeing too much is that it makes you insane.
-- Phaedrus

Never, never believe that what I do is half-assed, Devil, it's a matter of proper study, awareness of the rules, and knowing just how far you can bend them before they break - or before the working becomes something new entirely. There are rules I can bend here; there are some I cannot. Traditional methods must be taken, certain forms followed. I am undertaking a cliche of a ritual for your sorry ass. But I'll be buggered by a goat before I'll bow my head to any Loas, and therefore, you get to prepare the way.

Two months, thankfully is more than enough.

Research, careful research, will be my department. The preparatory steps will be yours.

This is going to be fucking fun.

What, did you think I went through this without knowing the consequences? Excuse me, bitch. I've only been doing this for six or seven years. Saw this shit coming. Willfully denying it didn't change shit, so finally I let fly, and as expected, no fucking luck. Why the hell should I bother when your mind is made up anyway?

Enjoy your despair. I hear hell's nice this time of decade. Kind of cold, in the way that only 3 AM and a glass of crappy alcohol enjoyed alone is.

"Here, at last, we shall be free." Me, though. Alone. Fuck it, if I've failed, at least I did my best.

What would you do with a ghost of a chance, just a little bit of weight to throw into something, just a butterfly flapping wings, just a single nail when you needed one? Sometimes it's as simple as an edge, sometimes it's the difference of a moment, the inflection of a word, the way you carry yourself. Sometimes it's just timing.

God, I can find that moment when I remember how, draw it down, whisper through the stillness, lean just right and make it all change. That's magic - change it. You can't make the candle light itself, but maybe you can inspire someone to get a lighter. Maybe if you're passionate enough, change the force of the storm - but not that it's coming. Maybe you too can change someone's mind without ever speaking to them. Maybe you can insinuate yourself till it's a question of the right words or the right pressure in the mind. Maybe.

Maybe this is all delusion. But sometimes I can feel it, and I can reach out and push, and it changes - ever felt someone's mind give a bit? Ever feel that shift in the wind? Come on, come on. It's almost godlike, but not quite there, not that level of control. And it's so tempting to push and change when you want it - not need, want, like a greedy child, throw aside flimsy morals and just change where you want it. Control. It's so goddamn tempting to play God. Sometimes, I can see the fault lines everywhere. It takes patience - incredible patience, and knowing... there's no consequence for this, no karma. Except maybe a bit more madness every time you change the variables, because you can't work magic without reaching into delusion and insanity, can't guess the future without driving yourself crazy.

Gnosis. It comes whether I want it or not, though, so burn out or keep going, head on, towards what She wants? I don't know. Can't tell. Used to be I could reach out and find stability. These days, all the rocks are busy becoming sand and nothing, and it keeps getting quieter out on the edge.

Having written this, I suspect it won't make sense. I can never explain this quite right. Can't tell if it's a failing of skill, or just a concept too large to put to words.

Urge to punch people in the face repeatedly for their own good RISING.

Balls, people. You have them. Go find them and make use of them, plz. Stop worrying about appearances, nobody gives a shit anyhow.

Crowley, that old bastard, took the theory of a Holy Guardian Angel which was an intermediary with the Christian God, and claimed it as something like the soul - a pure and incorruptible self which transcended all boundaries and made all things possible. This was his Great Work, seemingly, the continued conversation and realization of the pure self.

I do not believe in souls, nor in a higher self that guides us. We are ourselves: guided by reason, emotion, bodily urges, chemicals, the occasional Divine or spiritual intervention. We are animals, mainly, until we can master the art of thought and conscious choice. Control of the self and balancing such a thing with humanity is something all of humanity struggles with in one way or another. There is no "good twin" standing beside us, no Jesus Christ to take responsibility or give sacrifice for our sins.

Insomuch as a higher self exists, it cannot be personified or idealized as having a consciousness. It is not a living being, and not something you can evoke or call down to yourself with vulgar ritual. That higher self is potential. What can you be? What could you be? What's the spark within you, how brightly does it burn - or how dimly? How much have you surrendered in the pursuit of meaningless things, how much have you harnessed to achieve your goals?

Bindrune, often used - sigel over isa, the sun that melts the ice, the dynamic energy that breaks the barrier. I urge chaos over stagnant order if only because the alternative is to cease to live and rot within, potential wasted. If you must burn in chaos, then so be it, so long as the spark be given tinder, and something of worth be done before your time is gone. After all, better to burn brightly than the spark die and the self rot from within.

Determine scope of problem in order to determine the size of the system.

Determine context (system) which problem resides in.

Determine rules governing the system.

Extrapolate further information, observe results.

Test rules.

Conclude.

Understanding the scope and system are the important parts. Once you have the system determined, you should be able to logically extrapolate rules. Testing these result in further data. Application of the rules and understanding how they interact will allow better understanding of the system as a whole and systems like it, as well as smaller systems built along similar rules and the beginnings of larger systems.

Why is this important?

Prophecy and divination don't work precisely right. You get echoes, whispers, bits of the picture without the context, filtered by an unconscious mind and interpretation of the signs. Always that chaotic note; almost a little bit too late.

A girl turns in her sleep and dreams of her boyfriend becoming a monster, half a world away: he is lying down with another woman and swearing to both he loves them.

A woman reaches out in her dreams one day to a stained glass window that fractures apart as she watches in the light and comes apart; it seems to her that it's her own image falling apart. Over the next three years, she slowly loses herself and sight of what she really is.

Somewhere else, the cards fall, devil under the reversed Knight of Cups, and a young man loses what tenuous grip he has.

Dreaming, a girl crouches down to pick up a cat, and looks up. Elsewhere, a bookstore. Somewhere, moving furniture. In a kitchen. Mad scientist adventures. Same thread, where is it? What's the common denominator?

Dread. Cards turning. Interpreting the wind, listening to a not-quite-voice, the certainty, following the impulse and the metaphor and wrapping it in logic. Follow this pattern, see it through, get this done. Follow the rose vines in the maze out, and you can make it. Everything, bit by bit, falls into place. Just catch the next sign. Fail and you lose everything. Win and you progress to the next stage.

In my dreams, I hang up the phone, I turn the corner, I look back, I reach out - I ask. Do this, She says. Do that. Here is your inspiration. Move. And I move. This is the right way. This is what Must Be Done, cannot stop to ask why or how, just get it done. Move. Follow the signs.

"Let's do the blessing before the curse. You'll appreciate that later."

"So, have you ever heard about the Descent of Inanna?"

"When I used to go out walking, back home, sometimes, along the Minnehaha, you'd find trees on either side of the path carved with runes... Jera and Mannaz. Now, the runes probably have a completely different interpretation than their literal translation, but most kids aren't too smart. So they'll take 'em literally. Literally, harvest man. You'd touch the air between the trees and feel cold... and you'd go around that."

"You know how the world gets when there's a thunderstorm blocking out the sun, but there's light where you are, still, and there's this green cast to it? Somebody told me once you could step between realities, when things just feel wrong under that light. Not really come back, either."

"Lady, open the way. Lady, open the gate. Between this reality and the next. Open the gates of potential. Grant me entrance to the underworld."

"As she descended, she was stopped at each gate, and the gatekeeper said: "Give me one of your adornments." And she said: "Why?" "The ways of the underworld are perfect, and may not be questioned..."

"Remember to pay attention to where I'm tossing these, we'll need them to come back up and out... although I think I'm not getting that particular bracelet back."

"Here seems good."

"I draw the circle, I draw the sanctuary. Let us be stricken from this reality and held between. Between the real and the unreal, I draw the boundary."

"I call you to stand beside me."

"Lady Who Descended, Lady of Whores, Lady at the Gates of Dawn..."

"Lord of the Rivers, Lord of Creation, Lord of Lords..."

"Tiamat, Mother of Monsters, Dragon Lady, she who is the Great Below and the sky above..."

"Gods, witness, I call this man to vengeance and to my justice. May * * known as X, bear my curse. I speak my curse against him, I spit it upon him in rage and hatred."

"For theft, for pain, for perversion of works. For manipulation and suffering, for those he has harmed."

"May he know a shallow, unmarked grave, with none to mourn his passing. May his name fade and be unknown. May that which he has taken, be returned. May all pain and harm he has ever done return to him. May he never know success: always failure. May he know neither love nor contentment throughout his days, and the hand of luck and fate be against him. May he know disease and ill-health, may he know no happiness. May he be alone and abandoned."

A knife through the paper, then fire, his name burning to ash. We ascended back up the mountain slowly, collecting the silver jewelry - one bracelet remained lost in the woods. At the gate, I threw in the black-handled knife, the candles used for the circle.

When I slept, I tossed and turned and saw shadows in the corners of the hotel room, and woke scraped raw and hollow, and hurting. Justice? My gods aren't going to give me that illusion. This was not done for justice, and for that, a bit more payment is due.

Fuck, but I'm tired.

I can smell it, see it, hear it coming. Train wreck. Disaster. From which direction? All, I think. All of it is coming onwards, everything coming to a crux at the moment, disaster shivering down the spine, waking up from dreams. I can master myself, my body chemistry, eventually, emotions (almost), everything, bit by bit, drawing things into balance on my end, but something is coming. Not you, I think. Not that - too stable now, despite everything else, but. There's a balance broken somewhere. Something is creeping, on the verge of falling.

Down the back of my neck. Prescience? Skill at reading people, exposure to this happening too many times before? Where's disaster? Where is the storm coming from, and how many chunks of debris are going to hit me until it dies down?

Where is it. Whereisitwhereisitwhereisit. Come on, bitch, I can smell you coming, I could feel you months ago.

If I told you, could you stop it? Would you? I don't know how far I can trust you (further than I used to, with more knowledge of the implications), don't know how much longer I've got.

Cassandra Complex used to be a nickname. Now it's becoming the truth. Maybe not even a complex.

So there it is.